Underneath the Cold Facade
by Michelangelo's Maggie
Summary: Mycroft Holmes kept his affections for his baby brother hidden well, but can they stay hidden when he sees Sherlock in pain. *SPOILERS* (Involves a scene from 'His Last Vow')
1. Chapter 1

**This is my take on the scene from '_His Last Vow_', where Sherlock, John, and Mary are talking in the flat and Sherlock calls the ambulance.**

**I'm going to tweek as I see fit, and show how under Mycroft's cold facade (as Magnessen stated: Mycroft has a soft spot for Sherlock.) he dearly cares about his baby brother.**

Don't own anything... Sadly :( Possibly a twoshot

* * *

Mycroft was furious with his little brother. He had just been shot, and now he was running around London.

He was currently on his way to Sherlock's flat, to chastise his brother for being so stupid. However, those feelings were soon traded for worry, when his driver neared his brother's residence.

There was an ambulance out front, and paramedics were rushing inside.

Mycroft didn't let his concern show, as he calmly made his way past Mrs. Hudson, and up the stairs to Sherlock's flat. "Do stop your sniveling." He muttered to the old woman. "That's not going to help anyone."

This only caused the woman to cry more, and the cold man continued his way up the staircase.

* * *

He heard his brother arguing with his best friend, as the paramedics were attempting to help him.

'_He's always so stubborn_.' Mycroft thought, as he caught the end of their conversation.

"She shot you." John said flatly, glancing towards his wife, Mary.

"Mixed messages, I grant you that... Ahhhh!" Sherlock tried to say, but suddenly cried out and withered in pain.

"Sherlock, Sherlock take it easy." John instructed as he guided his friend to the paramedics, who laid him carefully on the floor.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft couldn't help the outburst, as his brother cringed, and moaned in pain.

One of the paramedics placed an oxygen mask over Sherlock's nose and mouth; the other quickly unbuttoned his shirt, and began to examine his chest. The older of the Holmes listened to his brother's shallow breaths, and cringed inwardly at the sight of the blood starting to seep into the bandage.

"Mycroft, what are you doing here?" John asked, as he quickly walked over to the older Holmes brother; trying to distract him from the scene at hand.

"I came to check on my brother." Mycroft whispered, keeping his eyes on his little brother.

"Get the stretcher! Bring James with you!" The paramedic managing the oxygen shouted to the other. The man nodded, and ran past Mycroft and down the stairs.

"Sherlock." Mycroft called, quickly walking over and kneeling by his brother's side. "You bloody idiot! Why did you leave the hospital?"

Sherlock's face contorted in pain, and he attempted to get his breath before speaking. "W-what...are y-you doing...here My-Mycroft?" He managed.

"I was here to escort you back to the hospital for proper care; before the East Wind came to get you." Mycroft scolded lightly, as two paramedics came up the stairwell with a gunnery in hand.

"Please move sir." The paramedic kneeling with Sherlock said, as the other two set the stretcher beside the younger Holmes.

John took Mycroft out of the way, as the paramedics lifted Sherlock onto the stretcher.

Sherlock cried out in pain from the movement.

"Call ahead to the hospital." A paramedic said to James. "White male, approximately 1.8 meters tall with a bullet wound to the middle right abdomen; partially healed, but some of the stitching's torn loose." He nodded, as the other two rolled the gunnery to the doorway, and began the descent down the stairs.

Mycroft nodded to the Watson's, and quickly strode out the door and after his little brother.

He watched, as the paramedics loaded Sherlock into the ambulance and immediately began doing what they could for him.

The elder Holmes briskly walked to his car, as the paramedics drove away. "Follow that ambulance." Mycroft instructed the driver.

As the car began to move, he pulled out his phone, and dialed a number quickly.

* * *

"Hello, Mikey?" Came the voice of an old woman from the other end of the phone.

"Mother, how many times must I tell you; you named me Mycroft." He said, annoyed that she liked to do that.

"What's wrong?" She asked, ignoring the comment. "Is it Sherlock, did something happen?!"

"Yes mother, as you know, he's been shot." Mycroft said bluntly. "Then he ran away from the hospital, to finish a case; and now he's being rushed to St. Mary's with internal bleeding and an erratic pulse."

"Oh my poor baby!" Mrs. Holmes gasped as she started to cry. "We'll be there in a few hours."

* * *

Mycroft hung up the phone, and tried to clear his mind. This, however, was proving difficult. Images of his brother lying on the floor, and crying out in pain played over and over in his mind.

'_Sherlock is going to be fine._' He told himself.

'_But you're still worried._'

'_No I'm not._'

'_Yes you are. You were afraid, when you saw the ambulance by his flat._'

'_..._'

'_Exactly, just admit that you're worried for your brother._'

"I am not." Mycroft said aloud.

"Sir." Mycroft looked up to the driver. "We've arrived."

He nodded, and got out; walking briskly to the entrance of the trauma unit.

"Can I help you sir?" Mycroft looked up, and saw the receptionist looking his way.

"Yes, there was a man brought in here recently; Sherlock Holmes." He inquired.

"I'm sorry sir, but we can't release that information." She told him.

"That is my brother, I wish to know where he is. Please." Mycroft said in a threatening, but calm tone. "I can have you fired from this job faster than you can say: God save the Queen."

"He was just taken back into the triage moments ago. I believe that Dr. Wellings is seeing him." The receptionist muttered, frightened by his intimidating look.

"Thank you." He muttered, walking through a set of doors, and into the triage.

* * *

Mycroft followed the surging hospital staff until he came upon the berth where his little brother was.

"Sherlock!" He exclaimed, making his way past the nurses, and to Sherlock's side.

Sherlock looked miserable. His ivory skin looked paler than was normal, his eyes squeezed shut, and his breathing fast and shallow.

"Who are you?" Mycroft looked up, and saw a doctor standing on the other side of his little brother. "Are you a relative?"

"I'm his elder brother." Mycroft said calmly. The doctor nodded, and then went back to looking over the younger Holmes.

"M-Mycroft, what are you d-doing..."

"I'm here to insure that you don't run off again, little brother." Mycroft said, cutting Sherlock off. "That, and mother would be so disappointed if you died."

"Ca-can't have that... c-can we." Sherlock gritted between his teeth.

"Surely not." Mycroft muttered.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to wait here." Dr. Wellings said suddenly, catching the eldest Holmes attention. "We've go to get him to surgery."


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft nodded, and stepped back as a nurse gave Sherlock an anesthetic.

Sherlock looked at his big brother with glazed eyes. "Mycroft." He slurred. "Stay."

Mycroft placed his hand lightly atop his brothers'; a rare show of affection, but Mycroft reasoned that Sherlock needed it. "I shall be here when you awaken, little brother." He muttered softly, as Sherlock succumbed to the drug, and was taken away to surgery.

* * *

Mycroft was lead to a private room, upon his request, to wait for his little brother to be done with surgery.

He stood tall, looking out of a window with his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he fought inside himself.

His mind flashed to the moment John had called him, just after Sherlock had been shot.

_***Flashback***_

"Mr. Holmes."

"What." He said, not looking up from his desk as he continued his paperwork.

"Sir, there's a John Watson calling for you." His secretary told him. Mycroft could detect concern in her voice for some unknown reason.

He sighed, figuring that it had something to do with Sherlock getting himself into trouble... again.

"Fine." Mycroft huffed, putting his pen down and picking up the phone that rested to his left. "What is it Dr. Watson."

"Mycroft!" John shouted, sounding upset.

"John." Mycroft said in a disapproving tone. "There is no need for shouting; whatever Sherlock has gotten himself into, I'm sure that you're more that capable to patch him up."

"Mycroft." John said, the concern in his voice growing. The elder Holmes detected the noise of an ambulance in the background. "Sherlock's been shot!"

Mycroft felt his heart clench inside of his chest, but he didn't give away his concern to his brother's friend. "Where is he being taken?" He asked in a calm tone.

"Their rushing him to Bart's." The ex army doctor explained.

"Keep me updated on his condition." He says cooly. "I don't want to have to plan a second funeral so soon."

"Myrcoft, you bas..." Mycroft hung up the phone before John could finish his sentence.

After placing the phone back on the hook, he closed his eyes and knit his hands together; praying that his brother would be ok. He had never told Sherlock this, for fear of the sentiment it entailed, but he didn't think that he could bear the actual death of his little brother

_***End Flashback***_

Mycroft is slightly startled, when Sherlock is brought into the room.

He watches, as his brother is shifted over to the hospital bed, and properly hooked to an IV pump, heart monitor, and an oxygen line.

"Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft turns his head, and sees Dr. Wellings standing in the doorway. He calmly walks over to him.

"Your brother's surgery went very smoothly." The doctor explained. "We stopped the bleeding, and replaced the stitchings that had been torn."

Mycroft nodded, and managed a smirk. "Thank you doctor, I will be sure that he doesn't run off again."

Dr. Wellings gave a small chuckle, before looking back at the eldest Holmes. "Well, he should wake up in a few hours; so, you're more than welcome to go home and rest."

"I think that I'd like to stay here with him." Mycroft said, looking to his unconscious brother. "For my own sake."

"I understand, sir." Dr. Wellings replied with a smile, as he turned and left; closing the door behind him.

* * *

Mycroft waited a few minutes, staring at the door, before walking over to his little brother's bedside.

Sherlock looked so vulnerable; like when he was a small child. His pale face was relaxed, as he enjoyed his drug induced sleep.

_'Probably the only real sleep he's had since Irene Adler drugged him.'_ Mycroft chuckled to himself at the thought. He knew that Sherlock wasn't one to attend to his basic need often; remembering how Mrs. Hudson had worried when he refused to eat, or was up all hours of the night.

Mycroft sighed. "You certainly know how to get yourself into trouble, little brother." He muttered, taking a hand and patting Sherlocks brown curls, before settling down into a chair.

* * *

_**The next morning...**_

Mrs. Holmes rushed into St. Mary's, her husband right behind her as she approached the receptionist's desk.

"How may I help you ma'am?" The woman asked with a cheerily smile.

"My son was taken in here last night." Mrs. Holmes said as calmly as she could. "Sherlock Holmes, where is he?"

The receptionist typed on her computer for a moment before looking back up. "He's in recovery." She explained. "But visiting hours don't start until 7 o'clock."

"That is my son!" The older woman shrieked, looking at her watch. "I will not wait another hour; I demand to see him!"

"I'm sorry ma'am, but rules are rules." The receptionist explained, attempting to calm the woman down. "There is already someone with him, and since his life isn't in danger we can't allow anyone in until visiting hours."

"Thank you." Mr. Holmes said, steering his wife away, and into the waiting area before she said something she would regret.

"Can you believe the nerve of that woman!" Mrs. Holmes fumed, as she sat in a chair and crossed her arms.

"She's only doing her job." Her husband said cautiously, not wanting to upset her even more. "At least Mycroft is with him."

"Excuse me."

The two people looked up, and saw a middle-aged man standing in front of them; a blond-haired woman standing next to him.

"I couldn't help but over hear; you know Mycroft Holmes." He asked.

"Yes, he's with our other son, Sherlock." Mr. Holmes explained.

"I'm Sherlock's flatmate, John Watson." The man said, holding his hand out as the old man shook it. "This is my wife Mary."

"Oh yes!" Mrs. Holmes exclaimed. "You're Sherly's friend! Do you know how he is?"

"I haven't heard anything." John said, shaking his head as he took a seat across from them. "We got here as soon as we could last night, as they said that we couldn't see him until the morning."

"Those damned rules!" Mrs. Holmes spat. "My baby boy is injured, and they won't let me see him. I swear if I ever find out who's shot him, I will turn absolutely monstrous."

John's face hardened, and Mary shifted in her seat. "Well I'm sure that Sherlock's going to be ok." She said, taking the worried woman's hand in hers.

"I hope so." Mrs. Holmes muttered, taking a tissue from her pocket and wiping a few tears from her eyes.

* * *

"Family of Sherlock Holmes."

John, Mary, and Sherlock's parents looked up, and saw a nurse standing near them.

"Yes." Mrs. Holmes exclaimed, standing quickly.

"My name is Taylor, follow me." The nurse said, as the rest rose and followed the woman.

"Can you tell me how he is?" Mrs. Holmes asked frantically, wanting to hear that her baby boy was going to be ok.

"I was just clocking in, when he was brought." Taylor explains, as they all get into the lift. "He had some internal bleeding, but the surgeons stopped that quickly. He also tore loose a few stitches, but those were easily replaced."

"How is he now?" Mr. Holmes asked, wrapping an arm around his wife, to calm her.

"I believe last I checked, that he was still asleep." Taylor replied, looking at a her watch. "That was about 15 minutes ago." The doors of the lift doors opened, and they stepped into a long corridor.

They walked a little ways, before stopping in front of one of the rooms.

"Here we are." The nurse said, as she opened the door for the worried parents.

* * *

Mrs. Holmes gasped, as she looked into the room.

There in his designer suit and all, was Mycroft Holmes; his head thrown back as he slept in a chair at his brother's bedside.

"My boys!" Mrs. Holmes whispered, tears of happiness blurring her vision.


End file.
